


Blue Earth

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Episode: s01e13 The Song Remains the Same, Episode: s09e07 Bad Boys, Gen, Minnesota, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1995, 16 year old Dean has been arrested for shoplifting and he uses his one phone call to tell 12 year old Sammy to drop everything and run. John is hunting a rugaru, and Rufus is calling in a favor from Bobby, so Sam ends up with Pastor Jim for the holidays. </p><p>In 1978, Castiel has been flung by his vastly powerful brother Michael across time back to 2010, with the Winchester brothers. However, the merciless trip through time before he could fully recover from getting the brothers to 1978 in the first place, has caused some...unexpected consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poughkeepsie

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill from Tumblr. Hope you like!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is told to drop everything and run. Castiel is thrown without recovery time from 1978 to 2010, and only makes it partway.

Poughkeepsie was just over an hour from the motel they were checked into. Sam had gotten Dean’s call at seven o’clock, and was nearly in Poughkeepsie by eight. His heart was racing. He had ransacked their room, which defied the “drop everything and run” command from his older brother, but he had hoped to find money to catch a bus. Poughkeepsie was the obvious choice to meet back up with John. Years later, he would find it funny that Dean had been forced to use the DEAR command over the phone, and they had changed the code to Poughkeepsie instead. Just hearing Dean say the words, “Dear Sammy, I’m heading out on my own for a bit, got orders. You understand, Dear?” should have been hilarious, but at the time, Sam’s heart had leapt into his throat, and the twelve year old had done just what he had been told. Mostly. Dropping everything had been harder when he had no money, but he had found his way. By the time Bobby had found him two days later, he was in the Metro-North train station alone, hungry and afraid, and he had no idea where Dean was, nor his father.

He had tried to hold back his tears as he looked up to see Bobby heading for him, ball cap in hand. The man mirrored his relief in his own eyes. “Damn, boy,” he had muttered, as he wrapped Sam in his arms. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Uncle Bobby!” Sam cried out. “Where’s Dean? Where’s Dad?”

Bobby looked angry. “Your daddy’s on a hunting trip, Sam. And Dean…Well, Dean is on his own for a little bit. He’ll be all right. Your daddy…he knows where Dean is. You’ll see him soon.” He ruffled Sam’s hair and stepped back. “Smart kid, leaving me a message like that when you couldn’t get your daddy on the phone.”

“Dad said if we ever couldn’t find him, we should call you or Pastor Jim.”

“That’s right.” Bobby rubbed at the back of his neck and returned his hat to his head. “Yeah, speaking of the good Pastor, we’re, um…we’re heading for his place.”

Sam frowned up at him, hurrying to follow Bobby’s long strides. “But why? I thought…I figured you would…”

“Yeah. My buddy Rufus…You don’t know him, but I kind of owe him. And he called me in for a…a job.”

His head was spinning. Jobs. That was always what it was. Jobs took his family away from him. Stupid jobs. Now even Dean was leaving him for jobs. Because nothing was more important. He had heard his father say it a hundred times. Nothing was more important than their work. It had been a very long time since Sam had thought perhaps he was an exception for John, but he had thought Dean…It didn’t matter. Bobby was going to make everything okay. He wouldn’t just leave him, like Dean had. He was at least going to find someplace to stash Sam before heading out.

So when Bobby looked down as he held the truck door open for him, he just sighed. “I’m hungry.”

Bobby looked at him hard. “When’s the last time you ate, boy?”

“Dean said on Friday night he was going out to get some bread and peanut butter, and he never came back. I had a bag of chips I brought with me here, and a nice lady gave me a pack of crackers this morning. I know Dad doesn’t like us taking any food from anybody, but…I thought this once…maybe it would be okay.”

The man nodded sadly. “I think just this once,” he said in a quiet tone. “Come on. I’ll get you some dinner on our way out of town. You can sleep in the truck. It’s almost a nineteen hour drive, and I want to get at least started on it before I gotta stop to sleep too.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Bobby smiled finally, and ruffled his hair again. “You’re something else, boy. Get in.”

He was too old to cry when Bobby turned on the radio to find that Christmas music had invaded his country classics. He just leaned against the window and closed his eyes.

***

Castiel could hear the brothers talking. But it was as though he was listening to the surface from underneath water. He caught just bits of their conversation, enough to understand that his vessel had found its way back to 2010. But not completely. Part of him was still stretching across time, and he desperately sought out Dean’s voice to guide him. _Father_ , he thought, _please help me find my way, help me find my way to the ones who need me_.

 _“This is what?”_ Sam was saying, somewhere, somewhen _._

_“Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie, one dropout with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there. It’s awesome.”_

_“It’s not funny.”_

_“I’m not laughing.”_

His flight was wildly out of control. The vessel had split over the seas of time, and he was falling. To the brothers, it would seem that he was comatose, as Dean had said, or at least sleeping. But angels did not sleep, and Castiel, for the time being, was still an angel. There was no telling how long that would be the case, how long until Michael cast him out of the Heavens entirely, but for now…

For now, he was falling.

Sam was speaking. He could hear him. He focused his whole being, and the last of his energy, on the voice of the boy with the demon blood. _If he could simply get to Sam, it would all be okay_.

And suddenly, he was not lying in a motel in 2010, not fully, and he was also not stuck in 1978. Suddenly, he was not flying at all, nor falling, but hitting the ground. It could not be called a landing, since he had no control over it.

 “Sam,” he whispered hoarsely, blood spattering from his mouth onto the grass around him. “Sam!”

He struggled to identify his surroundings, but before he could do so, everything became dark, and he was unaware of anything else for many hours.

Thus, Castiel, the rebel angel, found himself in Blue Earth, Minnesota, on the grounds of a church lead by one Pastor Jim Murphy, in 1995.


	2. Panov's Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stranger turns out to be very strange indeed.

Sam could not help staring at the man. He had never met anyone quite so…strange. He couldn’t even determine what it was about him that was so odd. He was dressed in Pastor Jim’s tee shirt, even though it was just a little small for him, and a pair of sweatpants from the church’s donation reserve, while his own clothes were being cleaned of blood and dirt. It had taken nearly eighteen hours before the man had woken up. Pastor Jim had taken him to the hospital, where the doctors had been a bit baffled, but had released him into the pastor’s care when they could identify neither him nor his medical problem. They gave the pastor painkiller and told him to keep an eye out for strange behavior. It was the best they could do. The pastor had diligently watched over the man until he had awoken enough to get him dressed in clean clothes and offer him soup, which he had declined. When he had fallen back to sleep as soon as he was cleaned up, the pastor had sighed and turned to Sam.

“He’s comfortable as we can make him for now, Sam. I’m going to get a few hours of sleep. Would you like to take a shift watching over him, and awaken me the minute he gets up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t close this door, Sam. I’ll be right out in the living room. Call to me if you need anything. I think…I get the feeling he’s a good man, but we know better than to assume, don’t we?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pastor Jim smiled down at him. “You’re a good boy, Sam. I’m just going to lie down on the couch for a little while. Remember, don’t close the door. I want to be able to hear if you need me.”

“Yes, sir,” he said again. He gave the man a smile, and showed him that he was wearing his knife. The pastor patted him on the back and left the room. Sam could hear him snoring loudly in just minutes.

It was about an hour later when it occurred to him that perhaps the stranger might like for him to read to him. He looked through the books in Pastor Jim’s apartment under the chapel, and found something he thought a stranger who was alone around Christmas might enjoy. It was one by Leo Tolstoy, translated into English, which Pastor Jim had him read to the little kids last Sunday. The pastor had said it was a classic, but Sam had never read it before. He liked it. So as he read to the stranger about Papa Panov, the simple cobbler who awaited the arrival of his promised visitor, he became engaged in the story again. He especially liked the part where the man gave up the special baby shoes he had made.

"It is a nice parable," a very deep, hoarse voice murmured.

Sam's heart leapt to his throat, even as his hand reached for his blade. "Don't try anything!" he ordered shrilly.

The stranger turned his head, which seemed to be the most he could manage. "I doubt," he sighed, "that I'll be trying anything for quite a while."

The boy took a breath and removed his hand from his knife hilt. "Okay. Yeah, you're kind of beat up, dude."

The stranger smiled weakly. "I'm beginning to feel that. Who are you?"

"Nobody. Who are you?"

"I'm Castiel. Cas. I'm Cas."

"Cas, huh? What are you doing bleeding on the church grass, Cas?"

The man's blue eyes were intense. Their gaze flicked around the room, then came back to Sam. "I don't know," he said absently. "What is your name?"

"Sam."

"Sam?" Castiel smiled then. "Are you Sam Winchester?"

His hand was on the knife again. "Why?"

Castiel watched him curiously, but without fear. "Because I'm a friend of Sam Winchester. Not yet, it seems. But in years to come."

"Buddy, you hit your head pretty bad. I guess you overheard my name. But we aren't friends. And you don't make any sense when you talk."

"I've been told that." Castiel continued to stare at him. "Do you think Papa Panov would still have been happy if he had been visited by an angel instead?"

"An angel?" Sam slid back into the chair and looked at the book. "Yeah. I mean...who wouldn't want an angel to visit them, right?"

A warmth flooded Castiel's eyes and smile. "Yes. I...I would like to agree."

"But you don't?"

"I think it depends on the angel, Sam. Angels are warriors of Heaven."

Sam shrugged. "But they're the good guys. You believe in angels, Cas?"

"I do," he stated firmly. "That is...I know they exist and I believe in some of them. I think some are better than others. Lucifer is an angel, after all."

"Lucifer?"

"Yes," a voice behind them interrupted. "Lucifer was the brightest and most beautiful of all angels, Sam," Pastor Jim confirmed, watching Castiel with suspicion. "But he fell because he would not carry out God's command to love humanity as he should."

Castiel smiled up at him wearily. "I am Castiel. You are the clergyman here?"

"I am."

"Then it is to you I will reveal myself. I am an angel of the Lord. I have lost my way to my own time, and I appreciate your hospitality as I recharge my batteries, as an old friend would say. Regathering my plutonium will take some time."

"Plutonium?" The pastor looked confused, and still a bit suspicious.

"You know, sir. Plutonium. From the Back to the Future movie. Michael J. Fox was in it. And Christopher Lloyd. It's like one of Dean's favorite movies."

"Ah."

"Is Dean here?" Castiel asked hopefully. "He is...what? Sixteen years of age?"

"He's not here."

Pastor Jim glanced at Sam hard. "Sam, we do not need to tell everything we know, right?"

Sam shrugged. "To an angel?"

The pastor sighed. "To a man who thinks he's an angel, yes. Go get him something to eat, please, Sam."

Sam jumped down from the chair and hurried into the kitchen without a word. But his mind was spinning with possibilities. He knew what Pastor Jim had meant. He didn't think this man was really an angel. But Sam couldn't help being just a little excited by the idea. Angels were the good guys. Angels were fierce, and loving and full of magic. Sam had read lore his whole life, and despite John and Bobby's insistence that they weren't real, Sam had always wanted to meet an angel.


	3. Latin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is studying Latin. Castiel seems to know some.

"I'd like to be helpful somehow," Castiel murmured moodily on his second morning awake.

Sam smirked. He was lying on the floor of the living room on his belly with books spread out in front of him. Castiel was resting on the couch under his trench coat.

"You don't seem to think I have potential to be helpful."

"Not unless angels are real good at Latin."

Castiel began to smile. "I happen to be excellent at Latin translation. Is that what you're doing now?"

Sam looked up in surprise. "You know Latin?"

"Certainly. I know many languages. Enochian is native for angels, but I know many human tongues as well. Some of which haven't been spoken in eons."

"Latin isn't really used anymore. But I have to learn it."

Something in Castiel's heart grew warm. "Yes. You should. It will serve you well in your future."

"It's what my dad says." Sam lifted his book and brought it to show Castiel. "See, this is all just gibberish, but when I turn it into English, it makes sense. It's like a code."

Castiel watched the small human with affection. "It is. It's just like a code. Shall I help you learn?"

"If you really think you can. Mostly I can translate, but my pronunciation is bad. Dean says it's because we're from Kansas. I think it's because I never hear it said right, because Dean sucks at it."

The angel smiled ruefully. "Yes. Well, your brother has other things on his mind. And he has you too, so he will be all right."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not going to be around forever. I'm going to college maybe." His gaze fixed hard on his notebook.

Castiel tilted his head. "Of course you are."

A light sparked in Sam's eyes when he looked up. "You think so?"

"Yes. I know so."

Guilt and pleasure tangled on the boy's face. His voice lowered as if there were someone to overhear. "I never said that to anybody before."

It was interesting to Castiel that this little human seemed to trust him. This was not the man who had drunk demon blood to fuel a vendetta against Lilith, who had faced Lucifer in order to give his brother the chance to shoot him point blank with their Colt. This was not the man who had been possessed by a henchman of Azazel, who had communed with the minion of Lilith, who had outsmarted a Trickster god who turned out to be an archangel. This was not the man who had looked the antichrist in the eyes and told him everything was going to be all right. This was not the man who had snuffed out Alistair.

This was a boy of twelve, who still thought there might be some good in the world. This was a boy who believed angels were the good guys. This boy was unaware of the taint inside his blood, which Castiel could not burn pure. This boy was kind and generous. He had watched over Castiel in a way which would put any guardian celestial to shame, offering him food and comfort, and even covering him with his trench coat because he feared the angel might experience a chill. Even now, he was studying in this room when it surely would be more comfortable elsewhere with a desk, in case Castiel needed something while Pastor Jim was occupied elsewhere.

Pastor Jim was less trusting, and had appeared in the doorway several times to check on them. He was clearly busy, but he also wanted to make certain Castiel knew he was not willing to leave the child alone with him for any amount of time. These visits had become less frequent as it became obvious that Castiel had no intentions of touching the boy, nor even moving from the couch at all if he could help it.

Still, Castiel had expended a tiny spiral of precious grace to let a feeling of trust and faith reassure the good pastor, so he could cease in his worry and go about his business without interruption. It seemed the right thing to do.

So it was several hours before they were checked on again. Castiel set to work teaching Sam, giving him a better understanding of how Latin was meant to be spoken. At some point, the angel lost track of training the future hunter to better enunciate critical exorcisms, and he began to simply enjoy teaching the boy something for which he clearly had a talent.

Sam was chewing on an apple from the kitchen thoughtfully. "Where did you learn Latin?" he asked while scratching out something in his notebook.

"Rome."

"You went to Rome? Like when you were a kid? Your dad send you lots of places too?"

"He did. He and my older brother sent me all over your world."

"Yeah. Me too. I mean, not the whole world. But lots of places. You know I never went to the ocean? I bet you've seen the ocean. I mean, we went once. But I just had to see it from the road." He shrugged. "But that's okay. Least I saw it. Dean says lots of kids from Kansas never see it at all."

Castiel nodded. "I suppose that's true. You'll see many things in your life most kids from anywhere will never see."

"Think so? I don't know. Seems like most of what I see is the back of Dean and Dad's heads in the car and a whole bunch of Latin. I spent most of this school year trying to remember where my locker was in every school, let alone the combination. Another kid told me one time that one of the scariest things about starting middle school is forgetting your lock combination. So I taught him to break into a combination lock. Some days it's easier than trying to remember a whole other set of numbers just for ten days or whatever." He snorted. "Dean doesn't even bother with a locker because he doesn't bother with books. I'll be in high school with him next year, and he's probably going to try to just share my space. He already said he was going to make me carry his pens and stuff so they don't bulk up his jacket."

Castiel sighed. "Sometimes bigger brothers find it amusing to throw their more substantial weight about."

"Yeah, no kidding." Sam looked at his book for another minute before speaking again. "He left me behind, you know. He just took off and told me to run."

The angel frowned. "Dean left you behind?"

"No instructions. Nothing. Just to run." He shrugged again. "I mean, it's okay. It isn't like I didn't know what to do. I'm twelve now. I'll be thirteen in May. I just wish he'd let me know if he was okay or something."

"That doesn't sound like Dean."

Sam huffed. "What do you know? He's a jerk."

"I'm certain something important came up, Sam. I cannot imagine your brother leaving you for no reason."

"Of course there was a reason," Sam snapped bitterly. "An important one. He's a superhero like my dad. And people need him. People more important than me. Because...because I don't. Need him, I mean. I know everything he knows and plenty more. I'm just not as big as him, that's all."

"Would it please you to know you'll one day be approximately 8.89 centimeters taller than your brother?"

Sam burst into laughter. "What's that? Like three inches? Three and a half or something? You're crazy, Cas. Dean keeps telling me if I don't eat more I'm not going to hit five eight."

"Apparently you ate more in the future."

"You're kind of a weird guy, Cas."

"Is that all right?"

Sam shrugged. "You don't think it would be better to be normal?"

"I'm afraid I have strayed too far to ever be a normal angel, Sam."

The boy nodded sadly. "Sucks, right?"

"Sometimes," he agreed. "Shall we continue with Latin?"

Sam considered. "You keep talking about going back to the future, and you mentioned plutonium, but you didn't get the references I made a while ago. So you want to watch a movie?"

Castiel began to smile. "I think I might enjoy that very much."

Sam grinned.


	4. Unseasonably Warm for Christmas Eve in Minnesota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a visit in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, and it's definitely not the nice kind.

In the night, Sam heard a whispering coming from the hall outside the room where he slept. The pastor was still snoring two doors down. He could hear him. Perhaps Castiel had gotten out of bed?

Sam reached for his firearm under the bed, and crept down the hall in bare feet. His heart was pounding harder with every step. The whispering was clearer now, but he could not make out what was being said. It sounded almost like...

"Latin," Sam breathed.

Suddenly a pair of shining black eyes appeared in the dark, glowering right at him. Sam sucked in his breath and stumbled backward.

_What was that?_

The creature that looked a lot like a man hissed at him from where it stood in Pastor Jim's bedroom doorway. "What's this? Little brat out of bed?"

"Stay away from me! Get away from Pastor Jim!" The gun should have been steady in his hands, should have been aimed properly with no tremor. But those black eyes glared into him, and he could not help how afraid he was.

The creature took a deep breath through its nose. "Hmm. What's this, I wonder? You're not entirely a boy, are you? I think maybe you've got a little something special running in those veins, don't you? I think so. I'm going to possess your friend here just long enough to make him chew off his own tongue so he won't spew any more Latin my way. Exorcised me years ago, the holy bastard. Fought my way topside just to get back here to make him suffer. Had to work a bit of Latin myself to walk through this sacred hut of his. Ironic, isn't it? I'll be with you in a moment, you interesting little demon child!"

Sam watched in horror as it moved into Pastor Jim's room. Why wasn't the pastor waking up? Was that part of the spell this thing had cast? "Stop!" he shouted shrilly. "Stop, I won't let you! You can't hurt him!"

There came a crash behind him, and he screamed, dropping the gun to the ground to cover his ears. Lightening flashed as though it were coming from the inside of the apartment. Sam slid to the floor, frantically trying to figure out what to do.

"This boy and his friend are under my protection," a deep, powerful voice boomed out.

Sam turned to see Castiel behind him, walking toward this creature. He stared. The man was fully dressed still, and with every flash of lightening, he could see shadows...dark, ominous shadows of wings splaying across the wall behind Castiel.

The black eyes filled with terror. The thing hissed. "Angel!" it screamed. "Angel!"

Castiel let a long, thin blade drop into his palm from his sleeve, and he put himself between Sam and the creature. "Demon," he spat in disgust.

The creature opened its mouth, and black smoke began pouring from it in waves. But Castiel reached quickly, and caught hold of the escaping smoke, forced it back into its container, and then threw his palm into the demon's face. Sam flinched and closed his eyes against the white light that filled the night.

When he opened them again, Castiel was stumbling back, and without thinking, Sam leapt up to soften his fall. The creature had no such assistance, and it collapsed onto the floor like a rag doll. Its eyes were burned out, and it was clearly lifeless.

"Cas?" Sam cried. "Cas? Are you okay? Cas?"

The blue eyes blinked quickly. The man was sprawled onto the floor, his head resting in Sam's lap. He looked quite disoriented. "Sam?" he murmured. "Sam? Are you all right?"

Tears were flowing down his cheeks unchecked. "Yeah. Yeah, Cas, I'm okay. But you! You're...you're a real angel, aren't you? Not just crazy! You're a real angel!"

Castiel nodded and lifted himself to sit. "Yes, Sam. And that was a real demon. Is your friend the clergyman all right?"

The boy jumped up to check. He put his hand on the pastor's, then hurried back to the hall. "I think so. He's still sleeping."

Castiel frowned. He stood on shaky legs and checked on the man himself. "He will be fine," he reported at last. "There was some spellwork done to keep him under until possession could take place. It seems this demon was quite afraid of your pastor friend speaking. He must be a powerful exorcist."

Sam swallowed hard. "That's what the Latin is for, huh?"

The angel looked back at him. "Yes. Learn every exorcism backward and forward."

"I will." Sam tried to calm his breathing and heartbeat. "Cas? Are you all right? Is it very dangerous for angels to kill demons?"

Castiel blinked twice. "No. Not ordinarily. But I've been...Part of my existence is years away, Sam. I have been depleted beyond what is physically required for such an exertion."

The boy nodded. "How do we help you?"

His angel friend smiled and reached out to push the boy's hair from his eyes tenderly. "My Sam. Always giving of himself to help another. You know, you and your brother are the only beings in the universe who might ever think to say such a thing to a being such as myself."

Sam helped him to the couch, leaving the demon carcass on the floor for the time being.

"Sam, it is a holiday tomorrow, is it not?"

"Cas, I don't think that's important right now."

"Perhaps it isn't. But...Sam, I was pulled here for a reason. I prayed to my Father to send me to the ones who needed me. I meant to be sent to you and your brother in 2010. But...instead, I was sent here to you. You say Dean is on a hunt, but..."

Sam frowned. The angel seemed to be getting confused. "Hey, hey," he soothed. "Look, you just kind of blew a fuse saving our asses, okay? Just relax for now. Yeah, tomorrow is Christmas. It's why Pastor Jim's so crazy busy upstairs this week. But it's all okay. I promise we'll say grace at dinner."

Castiel turned to stare at him.

The boy chuckled. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't joke. I just...Dude, you're an angel. You're freaking fierce!"

The blue eyes watched Sam curiously. "I am...one of the good guys."

Sam beamed at him. "Yeah, Cas. That's pretty clear. God, I can't wait to tell Dean. And Dad and Uncle Bobby!"

Dark eyebrows shot up. "Uncle? I'm familiar with Bobby Singer, but was heretofore unaware that he was one of your parent's siblings."

"No, it's...it's just something we say, Cas. I mean...Dean doesn't even really call him that anymore."

He nodded slowly. "I see. An honorary title then. Many cultures do that."

Sam sighed. "What're we gonna do about the demon thing that attacked Pastor Jim?"

Castiel looked as though he had not thought of it. He took a breath and waved his hand at the gory mess. The whole thing disappeared, and Castiel groaned with exhaustion. "I'm quite expended, Sam," he sighed.

A small, clammy hand slipped into his large one. "It's okay. I'm going to take care of you. I gotta put my gun away, but stay right here. I'm going to make sure you're just fine."

There seemed to be a flash of emotion in the angel's eyes then. "Yes. Thank you, Sam."

The boy patted his hand and started to retrieve his pistol. But he looked back when Castiel did not give up his hand right away. "Cas?"

"Sam, you are going to grow up very strong and very brave. You're going to make your brother proud and sometimes you're going to make him angry. And one day, you'll meet an angel. He will be quite unprepared for his assignment of watching over you and your brother. Eons will not have made him ready for Sam and Dean Winchester. So please. Be patient with him. He will always try his best. He will fall short often. But he will always try his best."

Sam pressed his lips tightly together in a look of determination. "Castiel," he said finally, "so long as the angel is one of the good guys, I think I'll like him very much."

The angel smiled. "I hope so. Happy Christmas, Sam."

The boy laughed. "Yeah, okay. Merry Christmas, Cas."

As Sam hurried to return his weapon to its hiding space, he sighed excitedly. So what if John and Dean didn't make it back for the holiday? He had his very own Christmas angel.


	5. Sam of Christmas Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Castiel exchange stories about how one might celebrate Christmas.

Dean's voice sounded strained when he called the next morning. "Hey, man. Merry Christmas."

Sam wanted to stay angry with him. He knew it wasn't going to last but a few minutes. It was Christmas, after all. "How'd you know where I was? Maybe I got eaten by something back in New York."

"Don't say that, man. Look, I called Bobby first, okay? Told me how you got to Jim's. You did good, Sam. Real smart."

"Yeah. You heard from Dad?"

There was a bitter snort on the other end. "I heard enough. And, Sammy, I ain't going to see you for a while, okay? But I didn't want you to worry about me, right? I'm on a job, just like Dad is going to tell you. And I'm fine." He laughed suddenly. "Spending most of my time chasing a girl who plays guitar."

"Is she a monster?"

"All girls are monsters, Sammy. The best kind."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Okay. Don't get bit."

Dean just laughed at this. 

"But you're okay?"

"Yeah. Listen, I gotta go. Another guy needs the phone."

"Oh. But, Dean, I wanted to tell you-"

"Sorry, man. I'm out of time, really. Look, I'll try calling you again next week, but you're probably gonna be on the road by then. Just...be safe, okay?"

"But, Dean!"

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

The phone clicked dead in his hands, and he sighed with frustration. "Merry Christmas, Dean. Also, I found an angel."

Castiel was flipping restlessly through some of Pastor Jim's books when Sam returned to the living room. "Hello, Sam."

The boy smiled. "Hi, Cas. Dean's fine."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Yeah. Pissed at Dad for some reason, but he always is. Even when he's pretending not to be. Were you ever a kid angel?"

Castiel turned to stare at him. "I was a younger angel. Though that's obvious. I was never...a child, if that is what you mean. Not like you. But I was inexperienced and..." He seemed to understand suddenly. "And sometimes I remember bigger brothers not listening. That doesn't always go away. Quite recently, I felt as though a bigger brother was not listening. Fortunately, your own brother manages to speak with authority even when confronting an archangel. Probably it was the first time this particular archangel had been spoken to in such a way by a mortal." 

"Kind of sounds like Dean. Only thing he's ever been scared of is Dad."

The angel frowned. "You say he was angry with your father, and afraid of him. I always got the impression Dean had a great deal of respect and admiration for your father."

"He's Dean's hero. Doesn't mean he doesn't scare the snot out of him. And aggravate him."

"Hm. Perhaps I have a similar relationship with Dean himself. Not that he frightens me. But he does cause me exasperation on a quite regular interval. Still, I respect and admire the man."

Sam chewed on his lip before speaking again. "And...and what about me, Cas? Do I exasperate you or whatever? In the future?"

Castiel's face softened. "You have confused me at times, Sam. You have made choices which...which I could not understand at the time. But no. You grow into a pleasant and capable young man, Sam. The more I knew you, the more I admired your strength. And in the end, I know you'll make the right choices. You just a day ago...or seventeen years ago...or fifteen years from now, I suppose, depending on-Anyway, you just offered to die or never be born if it meant saving innocent lives. Fortunately, your brother knows more about Glenn Close and hasenpfeffer than I do..."

"Who? What...Cas, I think you're not making sense again."

Castiel shrugged. "Perhaps not. I'm quite exhausted. It's a strange thing to be at two times and places at once. Or two places at twice?"

"How do you know some of you is in 2010?"

"I can hear you speaking then."

Sam's eyes grew very wide. He pushed his hair out of his face thoughtfully. "What am I saying?"

"You're concerned about your past mistakes. It is a repeat of conversation I've heard before. I don't need to listen."

The boy wasn't sure what to think of that. "So how you getting the rest of you here?"

Castiel squinted at him. "I'm intending to go back to 2010 as soon as I am capable of making the trip."

Sam felt his heart drop. "Oh. Yeah. Of course. That makes sense."

The tip of the angel's tongue darted out to lick his lips. Sam thought it was an odd thing for an angel to do. "But you know...I don't think I will be up for it soon. If it is all the same to you and to the good pastor, I'll stay a few more days."

The child could not hold back his smile. "You need more rest," he agreed. "Cas, what do angels do for Christmas?"

"We observe humans and other creatures, and pray for revelation. But we do that most days."

"That's it?"

Castiel took a breath. "Well...the event being celebrated on Earth is not an accurate date for the birth of my Father. After all, my Father, so far as I know, always was. So it isn't...But we do occasionally celebrate that our Father is."

"That He is what?"

"Is. That He is."

"Oh," Sam laughed. "Because He is I Am."

Castiel squinted again. "Yes. I think. In any case, we have the celestial choir, and occasionally it blends joy, adoration and loving devotion and creates from it a melody meant to express our thanks to our Father. It is quite beautiful. I have not heard it...in too long."

"Do you sing?"

"No," he responded very quickly. "No, I am a soldier, Sam. Singing is not necessary for a soldier."

"In World War I, there was a recorded instance of a Christmas ceasefire in which two enemy sides sang carols with one another from one trench to another."

Castiel sighed ruefully. "Yes, and then proceeded to slaughter one another come morning." He shrugged. "But how do you celebrate, Sam?"

His face heated strangely. "I don't know," he said with a note of shyness. "I mean, Pastor Jim is going to do a service. And there will be lots of singing. And I imagine some of the ladies will bring him pies. They do that."

"Your brother will be sorry he missed it."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Me too. But he's probably eating whatever he wants. Anyway, that's it."

"Is it not customary to exchange gifts on this day, Sam?"

The boy waved it away. "Oh, Dad and Dean and me, we gave up on that a while ago. Birthdays and Christmas gifts, it's all kids' stuff."

"I see." Castiel was watching him. "Sam, your father. He won't be with you tonight?"

Hazel eyes dropped their gaze. "Look, superheroes don't get holidays off, you know? He and Dean...and Uncle Bobby too, they're saving people. They can't just stop doing that for just anything."

Castiel nodded slowly. "I understand," he murmured. "Well, I'm grateful that you have the time to spend an important day with me. I don't feel up to attending the service. Please make my apologies to the good pastor. But I would like to hear you read another story if you've time before you go."

Sam grinned. "I-I picked one out!" he said with excitement. "In case you wanted another! Papa Panov is a good one, but there's also Dickens."

"What is a dickens? Is that...is that a euphemism for something?"

The boy laughed. "It's a guy who wrote the most famous Christmas story since the New Testament. You'll like it. It's about ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. It's like you!"

The blue eyes softened with fondness. "That sounds wonderful, Sam."


	6. A Good Yarn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel attends Jim's Christmas service.
> 
> For my non-English speaking readers, "spinning a yarn" is another way of saying you are telling a tale. A good yarn would be a good story.

Sam and Castiel spent Christmas morning and afternoon translating and exchanging stories. By three, Castiel found that he needed to rest with his eyes closed, alarming though it was, and Sam read to him very softly from the Gospels, to include in their study what he called "the original Christmas story." Castiel was amused by this, considering how much the prophets at the time had taken both creative literary liberties with the facts, and had borrowed from other, more ancient stories. After all, no self-respecting civilization back in those days lacked a good virgin birth origin story. 

Sam moved on to a German story about boots, and one about a spider on a tree, and after that one, it was time for the boy to help with the service Jim was leading upstairs. Castiel was grieved to be in too fragile a condition after his early morning tousle with Hell spawn to help, but he sat quietly in the back of the church and enjoyed the music and happy words, and especially the peace on the faces of Jim's flock. Some seemed to miss the point. They were stressed over their clothing or dinner conversation from before the service, or whether their children sat properly, and there seemed to be far too many worried about remembering the words to hymns and carols being sung instead of focusing on the joy meant to be in the song. But most parishioners were breathing in peace and putting out good will. It was something Castiel was grateful to experience. In a world where the Apocalypse was yet an abstract thought, there was still peace to be had. It was tempting to stay here and never return, or at least, not for fifteen more years. 

During the service, Castiel's hands were busy. He noted that the older human lady beside him was also focused on her work while listening. He watched her. 

"Is that a garment you are creating?"

She gave him a kind smile. "Oh, yes. I make things for the babies and their mothers down at the shelter. Some of them have almost nothing, you know. Every service, folks bring scrap yarn or something for me to work with, and I stitch or knit or crochet little things, whatever inspires me. When it's finished, I give it to the shelter to give to anyone who might want it."

Castiel sighed happily. "That is...very kind of you."

She shrugged. "It's what I can do. I don't have much money, and I'm not so young as I used to be. But I can do this, and if it can help, it makes me feel needed." A frown came over her face as she continued her work. "Though it won't matter much longer. The arthritis is quite bad, and I have a cancer you don't want to hear about. One or the other will make me stop soon enough. I do as much as I can now because it can't be long before I won't be able to." She shrugged again and smiled up at him. "But that's not nice to talk about on Christmas, is it, dear?"

Castiel watched her fingers work and nodded slowly. "I imagine it isn't nice for you to experience any day of the year. Could I use just a few inches of your yarn? I have a gift to give later, and I realize suddenly that I don't have anything with which to decorate it in a customary way."

She nodded and took her scissors from her bag to cut a piece for him, gauging the length by his fingers. "You're a nice young man."

Another day, he might have responded with a declaration of his species. But it seemed unnecessary. "And you are a nice human," he said with sincerity. He frowned down at the string. "Unfortunately I don't know how to do this," he admitted as the music poured around them. 

"How to do what, dear?" 

Castiel pointed at a ribbon which matched a hundred others around the church. "That. I don't know how to do that."

The woman laughed in surprise. "Make a bow with a string?"

"Yes, I've never...had occasion to make a-a bow." 

She continued to laugh, but spent the next few minutes teaching him to tie a bow with yarn. 

When he thought he had it, he thanked her. Then he took hold of her hands in his as she watched in amusement. "You are a good human," he said softly. "Though I have no doubt of your place in Heaven, I don't think it is necessary for you to get there any faster than you must. You are doing good work down here." He lifted two fingers to her forehead, and she let him touch her. It strained him to use his grace, so much that it was nearly painful to do so. But he corrected her joints and neutralized the cancerous cells attacking her, and even strengthened her bones very slightly when he felt how fragile they were. He chased out environmental toxins in her whole body. "Please continue your good work."

The woman sighed heavily with incredulous relief. "What did you do?"

He patted her hand softly as the service came to a close. "I have thanked you for your solicitude toward me and altruism toward others. I'm quite tired now, and I must retire. Happy Christmas."

"Happy..." The woman stared after him as he nodded and stood to take his leave. The congregation was on its feet and he was able to slip out unnoticed, yarn in hand.


	7. Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam receives a gift.

As soon as the service was over, Sam hurried to check the messages on Pastor Jim's phone in the apartment. Sure enough, he had missed two calls. He closed his eyes in frustration, and played them.

"Hey, Sam. Just wrapping up this thing in Wichita. I'll be up to Blue Earth soon's I can. Merry Christmas, son. Be good for Jim. Practice your Latin, and use the time to read up on some lore he's got in some of those old books. I'll call again soon."

"Boy, you know better than not calling me on Christmas! Guess you're helping Jim do his day job. That's good. Good for you to help him out. Don't forget to have some fun, but take care of yourself. You hear from that brother of yours, tell him I know he can't call much but he ain't too old for writing a letter to his uncle Bobby. I'd like to hear how it's going for him. I'll be in New Mexico by tomorrow. But I'll be thinking about you boys. Merry Christmas, kid."

Sam took a deep breath and choked back tears.

"Your father will not be coming tonight?" a deep voice said quietly.

He shrugged and hung up the phone. "He's got important things...And Uncle Bobby too. I thought I might at least get to talk to him. But he was obviously calling from a pay phone."

"How do you know?"

"You can hear it," Sam said simply. "And who knows where Dad is? Someplace in Wichita, but that doesn't mean I can call him back. I read that the President rides in a car with a phone in it. Some people have that. Dad should get one."

Castiel smiled. "One day, I'm sure he will."

"I miss my family, Cas. Everyone at the service talked about family being the most important part of Christmas. It makes it harder. Even Pastor Jim is out with family. Asked if I wanted to go, but it just...It's not the same. I had Thanksgiving with another family a year ago, and it was really nice, but...I just don't want to this time."

The angel sat wearily on the couch, and Sam sat on the floor nearby. "Sam, I'm sorry you cannot be with your loved ones tonight. But you know you are safe here with me."

"It's funny," Sam muttered. "Pastor Jim didn't seem to trust you to be around me at first, and I didn't get to tell him about the demon, because he was so busy today and I didn't want to mess up his Christmas. But he still trusts you now, even though he doesn't know you really are an angel."

Castiel nodded. "Yes, well, I gave him the benefit of my grace, so he will feel nothing but safety from me. It is something true guardian angels do all the time, but which I rarely have reason to try."

"So you made him trust you."

"It was more like a subtle suggestion that I meant no harm."

Sam nodded. He was glad. He liked Castiel.

"Sam? It is nearing the end of your holiday, and I wanted to give you a gift before you sleep."

A surprised smile took hold of the boy's features. "You don't have to give gifts, Cas. I'm just glad you could stay and be company."

"Sam," Castiel began, "in your future, you and I are to be great friends. I don't yet know how things will end for us, but you have a great many trials coming for you. Your greatest qualities, my friend, are your intelligence and your courage, your loyalty and your capacity for love. You...you and your brother have made a believer of an angel. For better or for worse, I am firmly entrenched on your side, and will give my life-again-to keep you safe, to protect your cause. Your courage just may be the thing that saves the world one day, Sam. Or you may give in to fear and damn us all."

Sam's eyes widened, but he listened.

"My gift to you." Castiel held out a black feather with a red strip of yarn tied into a bow around its base.

The boy accepted it as a precious treasure. "Is this..."

"It is not easy to manifest my wings on this plane. It took some time. But this is a primary feather of an angel who believes in you. Carry it with you, and when you need strength and courage, it will flash with the light of my grace, which no one will experience but you, and you shall be reminded that you are loved, that you are strong and brave. Like so."

Sam watched as the feather he held glinted like metal in the sun. He was filled with a sense of peace and determination, and he was certain for a moment that he could do anything in the world.

"It does not give you strength," Castiel said quietly. "It allows you to access the strength and courage you already have, and reminds you of those who love you dearly, and who believe in you with all their hearts. Like your brother."

"Thank you, Castiel," Sam said in awe.

"I'm...so tired," the angel said suddenly.

Sam looked away from his feather in time to see Castiel slump on the couch. "Cas?" He jumped to his feet. "Cas!"

And then, the world went still around him, and Sam knew nothing more.


	8. Angels Watching Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets a rude awakening.

Losing consciousness was a very strange, very human thing for an angel to do. Awakening was one of the oddest sensations a celestial such as Castiel had ever experienced. He blinked his eyes to find a brother standing over him. He reached clumsily for his blade, but the angel above him smirked. 

"Really, little bro? I just knocked you out by flicking you on the ear, and you're going up against me with an angel blade? You're hilarious."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Gabriel," he snarled. "Did Michael send you?"

Eyebrows shot up. "Michael? You're kidding, right? Michael doesn't send me anywhere, runt. He stays on his high horse and I stay...wherever I want. I haven't seen Michael for centuries."

"Because you are living as a trickster god."

Gabriel took a step back, and Castiel sat up warily. "Loki. Yeah. Sometimes. I was Anansi for a bit. Kokopelli for a while. I even go around in a fox called Reynard or Coyote for the kiddies sometimes. How did you know that?"

Castiel squinted at him. His mind was swimming, but he saw what he sought in his brother's eyes. "You are Gabriel from this time. Not from my time."

Realization cleared Gabriel's face. "Ah. Interesting. Very interesting. Castiel, right? Yeah, I remember you from way back when I was still playing the angel gig. And you're out of time, aren't you, little bro? Why?"

"It is...it is not of import."

Amusement gleamed in whiskey brown eyes. "Oh yeah? Want me to read your thoughts?"

"I'd rather you did not," Castiel admitted. 

Gabriel laughed. "Huh. Okay. You're up to no good. I can respect that. You're doing something you shouldn't be doing, and it's bad enough to get Michael's panties in a twist. Nice. I'll let it go, then. But you're certainly making a lot of noise with whatever it is you're up to. I can't get you on angel frequency, but I can feel you using your grace all over the place. I don't know what things are like in the future, Cassie, but here in the twentieth century, we like to keep it on the down low."

Castiel realized his error. He frowned intensely. "If you felt me, Michael may have as well. Or Raphael," he added with unmasked annoyance.

The archangel cackled. "Wow! On bad terms with Raphie too! You are an interesting little thing! Look, Cas. That? Right there?" Gabriel pointed to the boy frozen in time. "That's a Winchester. You may not be aware of this, but there's a strict hands off the Winchester boys policy upstairs."

He lowered his gaze. "Is there?"

The smirk remained, but Gabriel seemed slightly more alarmed. "Wow. You are really up to no good. But yet I'm sensing you're full of only good intentions. Interesting. Okay, look. First of all, you can't go around giving your primary feathers to random brats, no matter who they are, and certainly not a Winchester boy. And no doubt you've been telling him stories about his future. That's a no no, Cassie, baby. No spoilers for Winchesters!"

The blue eyes closed in frustration. 

"I like you, you little troublemaker. So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to clean up the kid's memories. And let's turn this little gift of yours into something a bit more innocuous, shall we?"

Castiel sighed in defeat, and watched his powerful brother touch the boy's forehead and wave his hand over his feather. 

The object in Sam's hand became a model jet, with a red yarn bow around the fuselage, a toy appropriate for a normal boy. A normal boy was something Sam Winchester would never be, could never be. It was all illusion. 

"What will he remember?" Castiel choked out. 

"He will remember he once met a nice man who gave him a plane, and that nice man believed in angels. I see no reason for him to lose his faith in our kind, now that you have introduced that to him. He will grow up knowing that angels are good and can be trusted. He will even be inclined to pray. Just not to you specifically."

"Because all others of our kind can always be trusted to be doing what is in the best interest of the humans, right?" Castiel growled bitterly. 

Gabriel was amused by his little brother's gall. "We are doing Father's work, aren't we, Cassie?" Gabriel winked then. "You know, I can't help but notice you're not all here. Are you?"

"I am not. I was returning from tourism in 1978. On my return trip to 2010, part of me...did not entirely make it."

"Michael tossed you, huh?" the Trickster said. 

"How could you tell?"

"Let's just say you aren't the only brother he's ever sent sprawling through space and time. Consider yourself lucky you're only in two different times and places at once. I'm still waiting for part of me to catch up. It's somewhere in 2017 without me. Say hello if you see it. All right. I'm sending you back where you belong. Look out for 2011. I hear it's gonna be a blast!"

With that, the lesser angel found himself cast through time and space once again, with slightly more care than the last time. 

His blue eyes opened again, and he found himself whole for the first time in days...or many years, depending upon the perspective. It was both a physical relief and an emotional devastation. 

"Cas! You're okay! Thank God. Starting to think we had lost you."

The voice reached him through a fog of disorientation. He could not remember...Who had he just been speaking with? Was it...Michael?

Sam's concerned face appeared in his blurred vision as he sat up on the bed. "Hey. Take it easy, okay? Look, Dean went out to get us something to eat. He'll be back any minute. You going to be okay?"

Castiel nodded slowly. "I feel as though I was just somewhere else. With someone else. After Michael threw us back..."

A sympathetic smile came over the handsome face then. "It was a dream, Cas. I guess you can stop playing in Dean's dreams and have your own now, huh?"

"Angels do not dream, Sam," he groaned as he pushed himself up on the bed to stand on shaky legs. 

"Yeah," Sam responded softly. "They don't sleep either. Right?"

Castiel chose not to respond. Instead, he glanced out the window into the parking lot. "That is Dean's car," he reported in a numb, hollow voice. 

Sam looked too, and they saw the sunlight glint off the classic car as it pulled in. 

Castiel saw Sam's smile acquire a look of peace, and he watched him take in a deep breath. "What is it, Sam?"

"Cas, whatever is coming? We are going to be fine. I know it. When the End comes, we are going to kick it in the ass. I don't know how we're going to get there. But we are going to get there. I promise. It's just going to take a little courage."

He stared up at him. "How can you feel that way?"

The man shrugged. "Can I tell you something weird?"

"Weird is...relative. Now that I'm spending time with you and your brother."

He laughed and ducked his head a little bit, and for just a moment, Castiel thought he might suddenly know what Sam had looked like as a young boy. "Yeah. Well, humans, we associate things...strange, random things, with feelings. And whenever I see sunlight hitting metal, especially when it's reflecting off that Impala...it just makes me feel like everything is going to be okay, you know? I don't know why. I just feel like it focuses me, gives me strength when I need it, when things seem dark."

"Perhaps," Castiel intoned carefully, "it does not give you strength so much as gather to you that which is already there."

Sam smiled at this thought. "Maybe. All I know is Dean and me, we've been through a lot over the years. And we got Heaven's most badass renegade on our side. When we first met, Cas, I was so excited that angels not only existed like I always believed, but they cared about my family specifically. Come to find out, most of them are dicks. But there's one I never lost faith in."

Castiel looked up at him. "I'm honored to hear that, Sam. Especially after what has transpired with Anael, I'm glad to know..."

"That we trust you? Yeah. You're one of us, man. You're family."

"Thank you, Sam. I...I truly needed to hear that."

Sam just continued to watch out the window as Dean parked the car that was the only home he had ever known, and the man and angel saw the sunlight glint off it again, and both took comfort in it. 

***

It seemed to be taking Dean a long time to get to the car. It was warm for February, Friday the tenth-almost Valentines Day-in New York, so the windows in the Impala were down. Sam played with his jet out the window and imagined what it would be like to fly. Not just in a plane. He wanted to have huge, feathered wings, maybe black ones, to match the Impala. But Dean and John would probably hunt him if he did. He smiled to himself and stared at the jet as he played. Perhaps not with feathers. But one day he was going to get off this road and fly, and no one was going to stop him. He just had to wait for now, and then he had to be brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Blue Earth. Dean didn't get his Valentines dance, Sam got a toy jet, and John got his rugaru. The Impala got her boys, and the glint of light will always gather Sam's strength to him, though he'll never know why. And an angel will be there to help him along the way.


End file.
